The wind and rain was and continues to be furious. It lashes at the windows. I went out in it anyway. I don’t like to be defeated, to be kept indoors. And it so often isn’t as bad once you are in it. I wore two layers of waterproofs, there being no chance of using an umbrella in these winds. There were a few students about, and even they were wearing anoraks. A couple were walking down Terrace Street, past Andy’s Records and the smaller one, who was wearing an outsize coat, was saying No, No, to every question her companion asked her, before letting out an Aaah! sound as a gust of wind smacked at her face.

My dreams were deep and complex, at one point I held a severed thumb tip in my hand, only to then realise that it was mine.

Trevor’s stories continue to delight, enchant and unsettle me. This morning I read about a little boy recalling how he was told of his mother’s death at boarding school and his remembering of the details – the tray of hot chocolate, the sherbet lemons he was offered, and his washbag, then looking strange having taken on the horror of it all. It is stunning storytelling and I cannot help but want to tell my own but am in awe. If I just try might it come good?

A slow day yesterday. I am still not hundred percent, as people say. And yet the ideas for work come and badger to be made manifest.

No walk for him today.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.